Torture
by Whyte-Fyre-Flayme
Summary: OneShot. Erik finds a mysterious girl in his torture chamber. Mostly ALW, with a splash of Leroux.


The sounds of water lapping against stone caused a hysterical giggle to escape from Marie's throat. How many times had she heard it? Too many. The heat burned her, sent her into a feverish daze, but she did not dare to lift her head and see the water she could so clearly hear.

She'd fallen for that before: a hand reaching out to touch the cool surface of the glittering water, only to be burnt by the searing surface of the mirror. How long had she been there? She had no clue: night had never come – the light coming from above unrelenting.

Absent-mindedly, she started singing the lullaby she could foggily remember her mother singing to her as a child. Her voice was no treat to behold; and the dryness of her tongue and throat helped nothing. But she sung on, drowning out the sounds of the trickery-water.

The light above her abruptly turned off and the water-sounds stopped. Marie was stranded in cooling, dark silence…

Somewhere, a door opened, and the rectangle of light framing the tall, imposing figure reflected a thousand times around her. Another hysterical giggle ended her song halfway through a line, "It's Erik!" she announced abruptly, then continued giggling.

Erik entered his torture chamber, staring at the unfamiliar girl curled in the exact centre, _laughing_ at him. She was unknown to him, but her face held familiarity of the _Vicomte de Chagny_ who used to be patron at the Opera Populaire. The same boy who had taken _her_ from him…

But how on earth had this girl gotten into his torture chamber? Abruptly, the girl sat up and gazed at him with wide eyes, "You don't look how Christine said you did!"

Erik visibly flinched at hearing the name – this stranger said the name he had forbidden himself to think! But he could not express the anger it evoked; he had stranger things to deal with. He extended a gloved hand to the girl who had resumed giggling, "Come." He instructed gently.

The girl immediately put her hand in his and let him lead her towards the door. "'Where are we going?' Marie asked Erik." She babbled.

Erik didn't reply, but realization struck him: this girl, Marie, was insane. His torture chamber had served its most basic purpose and the guilt swallowed him in waves. He led her out of the chamber and closed the door behind her.

She glanced around the room, a smile playing across her face, "Your torture chamber is magnificent, Erik!"

He frowned at the unusual compliment and sat her down on a worn chair, "How did you get into my torture chamber, Marie?" he asked gently, troubled about the state of her mind.

She clutched her ears, "Mustn't ask Marie that! Down, down, down, down, down…then mirrors and jungle and trees and desert and the trickery-water that burnt her fingers!" she exclaimed, then shuddered, "Magnificent chamber, Mr Erik!" she whispered, then started laughing hysterically once more.

"Marie…" he tried to catch her attention, but she was now rocking backwards and forwards, hands clutching her straggly hair humming the peculiar tune that had caught his attention in the first place. He touched her arm and she recoiled, whispering, "Marie is burnt, mustn't touch Marie's burns!"

She rubbed her arm, but Erik saw no signs of burns, except her left hand where the fingertips were raised in blisters.

He sighed, what on earth had led this girl to his torture chamber?

Marie had eventually fallen asleep, rocking to herself and alternating between singing and humming the same incessant tune. Once he was convinced she was truly asleep, Erik picked her up in his arms and gently laid her on the bed in a movement that gave him a cold sense of déjà vu.

Knowing she would be thirsty, he brought a crystal jug of water and a goblet to the room and gently placed them on the table alongside the bed. She was muttering and moaning in her sleep; occasionally thrashing around before becoming completely still except for the rise and fall of her chest.

Erik watched with a dark curiosity – never before had he seen someone so mentally deranged in sleep. When she finally woke with fluttering eyes, she looked around and spotted him, once more exclaiming 'it's Erik!'

The sigh and words escaped his lips before he thought of the damage it could cause, "How long were you in there, Marie?"

She stared at him in confusion, and then glanced around her. She spotted the water and looked at it mistrustfully. Erik poured her a glass and offered it to her. She shook her head violently and started to cower away, "Not the trickery-water! Don't take the trickery-water, Marie! The trickery-water burns you!" she whimpered to herself.

Sighing once more, Erik gently picked up her blistered hand and slowly dipped her fingertips into the water. She gaped at the coolness and reached with her right to take the water from him. He relinquished it easily and stared in the same inane wonder as she swallowed it all in a few seconds.

Erik reached out to take the goblet back, but she clutched it, looking at it as if it should be refilling with water. He firmly took it from her hands assuring her that he would give it back, refilled it and fulfilled his assurances. She finished the second just as fast, and the practice continued until the jug was empty. She clutched the goblet to her chest as if were the most precious childhood toy and looked around nervously.

A slow smile grew on her face, "This really is a magnificent torture chamber, Mr Erik! This room looks so real."

Realization dawned on him: Marie still thought she was in the torture chamber! "No, Marie…this isn't the torture chamber! Let me show you the torture chamber." He said gently, offering a hand to her.

She obeyed him thoughtlessly and he led her over to a part of the wall covered by a red, velvet curtain. He pulled it aside, not daring to look behind it. Marie gaped in wonder, "The torture chamber is inside the mirror?" she asked, shocked.

Erik shook his head, "Not inside, behind." He corrected her before pulling a lever, turning on the lights inside the torture chamber, and changing the mirror to a window. He did not think it bad until Marie screamed and backed away, cowering behind her hands. "Won't go back outside! Won't! Won't! Won't!"

Silently cursing himself, Erik realized his foolishness in showing Marie the chamber once more. He let the curtain drop and turned off the light mechanism before slowly approaching Marie who was attempting to hide behind the chair she'd first sat in.

He crouched down beside her, "No one's taking you outside, Marie." He whispered gently. She looked at him, fear behind her watery eyes.

After a moment, she launched at him and hugged him tighter than he had ever been touched, whimpering in terror. She was not a little girl, despite how she acted with her broken mind, – perhaps seventeen or eighteen years of age– and though she was petite, Erik still found himself unbalanced by the abrupt movement.

"It's always day-time outside Erik…why won't there be night?" she sobbed to him, her chin resting on his shoulder.

She eventually calmed and released her surprisingly strong grip, sitting back on the floor and gazing up at him, "Marie thinks you look startled, _monsieur _Erik!" she said, then giggled.

Erik just shook his head and rubbed his arms where Marie had clutched him: he was convinced they would bruise.

Marie started humming again, smiling widely up at Erik as he attempted to straighten the wrinkles in his shirt.

He slowly straightened up, looking down at Marie as she gazed at him unwaveringly. He gave her a reassuring look and turned towards the door. He had just closed the door behind him when Marie's voice called out his name in utter desperation and terror. Frowning, he took a few more steps, until she called again, her voice pleading.

Sighing, he turned back to the door and pulled it open. Marie launched at him once again, this time grasping him around the knees and sobbing. "Don't leave me alone in the torture chamber, Erik! Don't leave me." She pleaded. His legs were beginning to ache at the strength of her grip as she continued to whisper 'don't leave me' over and over.

He swallowed before replying, "I won't."

Her grip loosened, but she did not let go. Erik bent and slowly unwrapped her arms from around his knees, gently pulling her to a standing position. "Come then, Marie – I am headed for the kitchen."

Keeping a grip on his arm, she let him lead her through his home to the small, dark kitchen. Watching with a hint of amusement in her depthless eyes, she watched him in his menial task of cooking a meal. After all was finished, he separated all that he had made onto two plates, placing one down before Marie where she stood.

She took it up and willingly followed him to the small dining room – it only seated two people: he had only designed it for Christine and himself. Marie sat in the throne-like chair he usually sat in, grinning up at him as if she knew this and was deliberately disobeying him.

Steeling his emotions, he sat in the less intricate chair that was still Christine's in his mind. Marie picked up the silver cutlery and began eating – equipped with the flawless dining skills of a proper lady, if only they were a little sped up with her hunger.

Once again, Erik thought of her resemblance to the _vicomte_. An idea formed in his mind – it involved a risk, but its outcome would be worth it in the end.

It had been four days of Marie's constant company, she was trying and sometimes amusing in a macabre way. She'd gotten out of the habit of greeting his sight with an exclamation of 'it's Erik!' after it became obvious it was infuriating to him.

The constant company was maddening, as well. If she found his annoyance obvious she became still and silent, and he learnt how to ignore the feel of her gaze on him. In normal routines that should have been private (noticeably, bathing), her presence was intrusive.

In the bathing room was the only place he could rely on her averting her gaze; and the only time they could wakefully be in different rooms was when it was her turn to bathe and Erik refused to be in the same room.

On the fifth day, Erik was sat at the organ, composing and playing music, Marie sitting a distance away. Erik felt her gaze leave him and was shocked when she loudly exclaimed, "Raoul!"

The music faltered to a stop and Erik turned around – he had expected a _written _reply to his letter, not the appearance of the vicomte!

Raoul de Chagny stood beyond the portico, looking at Marie in shock. Spurred by Marie saying, "Erik! Uncle Raoul is here!" Erik ran to the lever and lifted the portico, letting the vicomte in. He crossed quickly to the girl who'd finally gotten to her feet.

"Sophia de Chagny, what are you doing here?" Raoul demanded scoldingly, "We warned you against this Opera House! You left no message and ran off!"

Marie (or more correctly, Sophia) dissolved into tears and Erik crossed over, handing her a handkerchief with, Raoul saw, a curiously tender look on his face. She ignored it and grasped Erik tightly around the shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

Raoul watched, hardly knowing what to feel about this display of curious affection. Marie calmed and leant back in the chair, Erik straightened and walked over to Raoul, "_Vicomte_, may I speak with you?" he asked.

Raoul nodded, he would wait until they were out of earshot of Sophia before demanding an explanation.

Earlier today he had received a letter with his name on the front. Christine, his wife, had gasped and fallen back into a sofa at seeing the handwriting. She'd managed out, 'it's from _him_' before taking a drink of tea with shaking hands.

Raoul remembered the letter with clarity – he'd read it at least ten times.

Dear sir, I write to you on a pressing and curious matter. Please contact me as immediately as possible. Do you know a girl of perhaps seventeen with hair and eyes the colour of yours, she answers to the name 'Marie'. If you do know of her, she is in my company. Yours, O.G.

It was short and to the point, but it had taken three readings for the words to sink in through his cold anger. Another two readings to figure out the girl was his niece, Sophia de Chagny – she was called Marie in the same manner as Christine was called Little Lotte; it was from Sophia's favourite tale as a child.

The two men left the cavern and walking far enough away so Sophia could not hear them. "What in God's name is going on here?" Raoul demanded. It hadn't turned out as eloquent as he'd imagined.

Erik was unfazed, "I'd imagine you'd be quite desperate for answers, _vicomte_. I did not knew she was your niece until just a moment ago when she called you 'uncle'."

Raoul glanced over the Opera Ghost's shoulder and saw Sophia standing on the bank of the lake, watching them desperately. "Why is she watching us like that?" he found himself asking.

"Oh, she fears solitude. Raoul, I'm afraid Marie is insane." Erik replied.

"Sophia." Raoul corrected. Then the words sunk in and he gaped at Erik, "What? How?"

"You remember my torture chamber, _vicomte_?"

Raoul gasped, then his anger rose, "You locked Sophia **in the torture chamber**?" he yelled. Inside the cavern, Sophia flinched.

Erik shook his head, "I found her in my torture chamber. Since your escapade, I had been quite content to forget about it. Until I heard Marie – Sophia, your pardon – singing a song."

Raoul blinked, "And now?" he asked.

"Sophia fears solitude, Raoul, I've not been able to leave her on her own for four days. Marie – Sophia – believes she is still inside the torture chamber, and nothing I've said can convince her otherwise." Erik explained, watching the vicomte's reaction to each new piece of information.

Raoul swallowed and glanced at Sophia before returning his gaze to Erik, "That is –" he stumbled for words.

"Vicomte, perhaps you should take her to be with her family – more suitable company than an Opera Ghost." Erik suggested.

Raoul nodded, "I will take her with me now."

"Take the boat, I will collect it after you have left." Erik replied.

"Has she costed you any expense?" Raoul asked.

Erik raised an eyebrow, "Are you trying to buy me off, _vicomte_?" he demanded.

Raoul met his gaze steadily, before walking back towards Sophia who was watching them, an innocent smile on her face. He walked to her and took her arm, leading her towards the boat.

"Uncle Raoul, where are we going? Ow! Raoul, you're hurting me! Raoul?" she rambled as he sat her down in the boat. She turned her frightened gaze to the retreating back of the Opera Ghost, "Erik?" she called. "Erik?"

As the boat moved further away, her cries grew louder, more desperate. Erik closed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to block her out.

After the last 'Erik!' had faded, he sat back down at the organ, resuming on the note he had left off on.

&&&

Erik did not see Christine until he had secured the boat. He gaped – he was not expecting to see her, on this, his regular trip above ground to restock his kitchen. He gaped, the sight of her bringing up painful memories. "What…why are you here?" he demanded.

"Sophia." She said simply.

Erik froze – it had been three months since he'd last seen the girl, what about her was bringing Christine below ground, back to his domain?

"Sophia…Erik, will you take care of her again?" she asked timidly.

Erik blinked across at her, why was she asking this of him?

"Raoul did not keep her with her family, Erik. He took her to an asylum and left her there. The doctors thought they should treat her better because of her status and they gave her a spacious room with a window. She smashed the window – she thought it was a mirror and she cut herself badly on the glass. They locked her alone in a cell, and she got worse. She-she kept calling your name, sometimes for days at a time. When I was finally allowed to see her, she clutched me so tightly I still have the bruises though it was a month ago. She sobbed to me and she said 'Erik didn't want me any more, did he?' and I had no clue what she was talking about. When I left, she screamed after me for so long – until my name turned into yours. I returned and asked Raoul the story – I couldn't believe how badly he'd treated her.

"I went back to the asylum, a-and they wouldn't let me see her. They said she'd had another relapse, and when I'd finally bought my way in, all she could do was yell your name in a broken voice. I sat with her until she woke from her trance and saw me. She greeted me like she was sane again, with smiles and cordiality. But I said your name and she fell into sobs in my lap. She told me, she said: 'Erik didn't want me any more. That's why he told Raoul to take me away. I knew Erik didn't want me – he used to get angry sometimes, and all I could do was be quiet and still, so he wouldn't notice me! But I couldn't leave and I couldn't be alone, I am so afraid, Christine! They keep leaving me alone in the torture chamber!'

"I couldn't bear to leave her until she was asleep. I left the cell and paid a nurse to sit with her until I returned the next day. I came back and the nurse and Sophia were talking with perfect sanity – they were speaking of music. When Sophia saw me she gave me a smile and said 'Erik makes pretty music, doesn't he Christine?'.

"The nurse left us, and I stepped out to thank her, and how Sophia screamed! She yelled my name, and the nurse's, and finally yours until I came back in. She was curled in the corner, as small as she could make herself, saying your name over and over like a prayer. 'Christine' she finally whispered, 'why does he keep leaving me alone in the torture chamber? He promised he wouldn't!'

"When it was time for me to leave again, I asked the nurse to sit with her again, but Sophia sent the woman from the room screaming, 'send for Erik!' The woman was scratched and bleeding horribly – they had waited too long to cut her nails. The doctors were called and they gave her a drug to make her sleep. Then the doctor came to me and said 'Vicomtess de Chagny, we cannot keep Sophia here if she continues to act in such ways – have you considered getting her a full-time carer at home, rather than leave her here? She seems to react better to familiar company.' And then I thought of you, Erik – you are the one person she wants for company." Christine finished.

Erik's heart constricted painfully at every new horror of Sophia's – he had trusted Raoul to give Sophia what she needed, and he had given her solitude. His eyes were running with tears, "Do not look, Christine, I need to remove my mask." He told the vicomtess.

She obeyed silently, turning away while Erik pulled his mask away and wiped the tears away. He replaced it and told Christine she could turn.

She looked at him pleadingly, "Will you, Erik? Will you take care of Marie?"

Erik drew a shuddering breath, "Of course."

Erik was barely aware of Sophia's arrival until she had gripped him tightly around his waist, burying her head into her back, almost knocking him off his feet, "It's Erik!" she yelled, her voice joyful.

Christine appeared a moment later, carrying a bag of Sophia's things.

Erik turned gingerly in the grip of the girl, gasping when he saw her. She was skeletal, skin pulled taut over her too-thin frame. Her head of brown, lifeless hair was now buried in his chest. He looked at Christine as if to say 'you did not tell me she looked this bad!', to which Christine could only look helplessly.

Once Christine had left, Sophia sunk to the floor, shuddering with sobs. Erik sat down across from her. He brought a hand to her face, which she slapped away with surprising force, "No!" she snapped, "You lied to me, Erik! You broke your promise! You left me in the torture chamber by myself!"

Erik paused, then answered, "I thought Raoul was going to take care of you Marie. I thought your family would be better company for you than I would." He tried to explain.

She seemed she was not going to listen for a moment, until she dissolved into more tears and clutched at him once more. He could barely take in a breath, and when he chocked, Sophia pulled back, frightened, "Erik?"

"I'm okay, Sophia." He assured her.

She squinted at him, "Marie." She corrected softly. Erik was taken aback, but nodded.

She slowly got to her feet, trembling slightly. She looked at him pleadingly before whispering, "Please, Erik, I'm tired."

He understood and offered her a hand, leading her through his home to the bedroom where she laid on the bed and fell asleep within minutes.

For the first time he had seen, she slept peacefully for eight hours, before she opened her eyes, gazed at him blearily before exclaiming, "It's Erik! See, Marie, I told you he wouldn't leave us alone forever."

And their time together was as peaceful as can be thought for a few days. After some time, Marie had acted nearly sane; until Erik had stepped into the bathroom while she was sleeping and once he returned, she was awake and frightened he had left her. She would often scream in her sleep, but Erik would either wake her up or sing a lullaby until she calmed.

But Erik's mask had been on her mind, or – more correctly – what lay behind it. Her nearly-sane mind had retold her Christine's stories of Erik's anger both times she had removed it, but after it had gone again, curiosity ate away at her.

Erik had not noticed how she gazed boldly at his mask while he was absorbed in music or a book.

One night, Marie woke before Erik had returned. Frightened, she did not scream his name, but crept through his home and saw him at the organ, sleeping against the keys. Timidly, she wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and stood. The brilliant white porcelain of his half-mask caught her sight.

He was asleep…nervously, Marie stretched her hand out and touched the mask – it was cold! Taking a deep breath she started to lift the mask off his face.

Faster than she could see, he was stood, towering above her like a towering inferno of anger, pushing his mask back into place. "How **dare** you? You intrude on my solitude and now you wish to take my last thread of privacy!"

Marie backed away from him, fearful tears spilling from her eyes; but Erik closed the distance between them with little effort. She fell against a chair and sat down, gazing up at him tearfully.

He gripped her by the wrists and pulled her to her feet, "Stop crying Sophia! Don't you like Erik when he's angry?"

Marie gasped in pain, "Erik, you're hurting me – ow! Stop gripping so hard! They're not healed properly yet!"

This last exclamation caught him off-guard and he pulled one of her sleeves down, gasping at the half-healed gouges in her wrist – some of them broken where he'd been gripping her.

She ripped her arms away and ran through his home to the bedroom, where she locked the door. Erik was in a daze: he'd not left her alone long enough for her to make those, and he could only determine that they were from her time at the asylum.

He felt old anger towards the vicomte bubble up again and fought it back down. He turned back to his organ, and began playing with new energy.

An hour later, he checked in on Marie – she was sleeping peacefully, new bandages around her wrists. He half-wondered where she'd gotten them from, but turned from the room, still furious about her attempting to remove his mask. Above, the city of Paris was waiting.

When he returned, the silence around him felt oppressive. Straining his ears, he panicked when he could not hear Marie breathing. Returning to the bedroom where he had seen her last, he was almost relieved not to see Marie lying there.

And then his panicked mind caught up and he ran through the house, trying to find Christine's niece. He didn't see her and he didn't see any of her possessions. All he found was an envelope with his name written on it in an unfamiliar script. He picked it up and opened it before reading the short note inside.

To Erik, I beg your pardon upon intruding on your solitude. I will no longer trespass on the merest of your privacy. Yours faithfully, Sophia de Chagny.

Where it had been signed, the word 'Marie' was crossed out.

It was the sad occasion of the Vicomtess, Christine de Chagny's funeral. Around the grave, a large gathering of mourners stood, clad in black. Her husband, the Vicomte, stood blankly, staring off into middle distance: he had done his grieving.

Hiding behind a mausoleum, Erik watched the funeral crowd, their emotions hidden by the blank masks that were there faces. Even the de Chagny children were standing completely still, their faces neutral.

He could not bear their cold dispositions – it was a high class funeral and, like all of the class's functions, displays of emotion were unwelcome.

When the service finished, the misnamed mourners left the cemetery. Finally free of their cold dispositions, Erik broke down, removing his mask so his tears could flow freely.

Into his view, a dainty handkerchief trimmed with black lace appeared. He looked up at the offerer, quickly covering his face with his hand. But Marie was not looking at him, but gazing determinedly at the grave of her aunt. Erik could only watch as she knelt in the snow, placing a small bouquet of red and black roses on the headstone.

Finally, he had recovered enough from shock and grief to approach her, "Marie?"

"Sophia." She corrected, not looking at him. "How did it happen?" she asked, her voice, though regal and clear, was flowing with grief.

"A fever." Erik answered, "I read about her death in the newspaper."

"Did you get to see her before she died?" Sophia asked sadly, eyes on the picture of her aunt.

"Not after she got sick. I last saw her a month ago, when she came to ask if I had heard any news about you." Erik replied, his eyes on the back of her head. "She was so upset, Marie. She had no clue where you were, or if something had happened to you."

Sophia didn't correct him on the name, "I meant to write, I really did. I just never remembered in time."

"Why didn't you go home to her?" he asked.

"I was trying to find a way out of the torture chamber." She replied blandly, "I ended up in Holland for the most part, working for a seamstress." She sighed, "I'm talking mindlessly again. Forgive me, Erik, the news of Christine's death has quite returned me to some level of insanity."

Erik was surprised – this was Sophia's idea of insanity? She'd obviously been unable to see how much she'd improved. "Holland?" he managed out eventually.

Sophia nodded, "For four years. I passed myself off as an orphan, and a friendly family took me in – the mother was a seamstress and used to be an orphan herself." She crossed herself and stood, looking at Erik through teary eyes.

"And how long have you been in Paris?" Erik asked.

"Not three hours." Sophia replied, "I was in Brest with the family from Holland when I heard the news of Christine –they booked me a carriage and I came here."

Erik swallowed – he didn't want to talk of Christine. "D-did you ever find your way out of the torture chamber?"

Sophia smiled, "Not so much. It was more me coming to the realisation I left the torture chamber years ago." She explained, "I'm almost sane for most of my time." She informed him.

"You seem fine to me." Erik replied.

"My thoughts aren't that of a sane person." She replied simply.

"Who's to judge what a sane person thinks? If you're insane, then you don't think how a sane person does, and therefore can't know what a sane person thinks like." Erik shrugged.

"I never thought about it that way." Sophia replied.

"Are you returning to Brest?" he asked.

"Not for certain. I told the family that I was going to look up my Aunt's family when I was here, and they encouraged me to try and find comfort in their company." Sophia replied, and the two of them slowly started to make their way out of the cemetery. "That child, the one holding Raoul's hand, is she their daughter?"

Erik nodded, "That was Sophia de Chagny, Christine's youngest. Next to her was Erik de Chagny, their son."

Sophia blinked, the names figuring out in her head, "Christine named her son after you?"

Erik nodded, "I am his reluctant God Parent, on both the father's and my part." He explained, "And one named after you. Christine never quite got over your leaving, Marie."

They came to Erik's carriage, and Erik glanced at her, "Where are you going next?"

Sophia shrugged, "I don't know. I didn't make plans after the cemetery."

"May I offer you a ride to the Vicomte's house then, Marie?"

"Sophia." She corrected gently, "And I have no real desire to return to Raoul's company after how he treated me five years ago." She suddenly frowned, looking at him, "Erik, your mask."

He brought a hand up to his face and found it missing. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, Marie, I must go collect it."

As Erik collected his mask, he glanced at Christine's headstone. 'Comtess de Chagny, beloved wife, mother and aunt.'

_Fin_


End file.
